The Regent Of Vector And The Lady Of The Airships
by CSS.Stravag
Summary: Archangel's Amazing Adventures Side-story 01. Natarle Badgiruel left the ship voluntarily. Flay Allster was Dishonorably Discharged from the Archangel Team. They may have walked away from the ship and each other, but their fates are not so separate as they think. Short side story, continuation from AAA Chapter 28.
1. The Silent Regent

(Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Side Story 1: The Regent of Vector)

For those times where there is a lot you want to express, but cannot do it in the primary story, there is always a side story. This is one of those cases: Natarle Badgiruel and Flay Allster, both departed from the _Archangel_, and I will not leave them unheard from. There is much I still want to convey about Terra, including a particularly nasty backstory segment that did not show up before the _Archangel_ departed. As such, it is time to put all this to the typing and bring some conclusion to these two characters.

Though it has been three, almost four years, I have not forgotten my concepts of this story and have not abandoned them. Now, I put in the last word on this chapter as is appropriate. My intention is to make these shorter and more poignant chapters than common for AAA, roughly 10K words per chap. Length of story total is unknown at this time.

ZZZZZ — Disclaimers / Hazard Warnings — ZZZZZ

GENERAL DECLARATIONS (These apply to all sections, and other declarations may be added in the chapters)

Stravag does not own any part of the Gundam franchise. If I did, you could rest assured GSD would have been a lot bloodier than it was. Not quite as bad as Zeta, but close (har har har). And Stella probably would have survived (not Shinn, though), and…

Also note that Stravag does not own any part of any other included works. I intend no offense or copyright challenge to any included works, I'm just tossing things together in a semi-logical fashion here…

Writing note: numbers in parentheses, like this: (0) mean check the footnote for something else I think goes along with the thought. Could be informative, could be humorous, or both.

BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING: Much as in real life, there will be foul language in some sections. Even the best of us let fly a four-letter word when really pissed off, startled, or else. Natarle is not the worst in the Archangel Crew, not by far, but will earn some score there.

VIOLENCE WARNING: It is fairly safe to say, regardless of this being a magical mystery tour crossover, or as a direct cause thereto, there shall be an amazing amount of violence. Get used to the thought. Expect strange conclusions to some fights, and expectable conclusions to others.

RELATIONSHIP WARNING: I may normally be fairly light on this subject in my writing, since more of my focus is on the political and military dimensions of the conflict at hand, but in this case there is no political dimension and only some military dimension. Expect to see some canon pairings, some non-canon pairings, and some very, very strange pairings. Fate does weird things to those it favors.

ANTI-POLITICAL-CORRECTNESS WARNING: To strive to be politically correct serves no purpose, for real life makes no such distinction. I will not do so. Death before dishonor. End of story. Please don't ask me to explain this one.

FLAY WARNING: 'nuff said.

And NEG, THERE IS NO CHARACTER BASHING IN THIS STORY! PERIOD! Every character is entitled to some props even if their only purpose in the story is the classic image of deus ex machina. AND THERE WILL BE NO SLASH IN THIS STORY UNLESS IT IS CANON TO THE SERIES IN QUESTION!

And now, on with the story!

Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Side Story 1: The Regent of Vector

Chapter 01: The Silent Regent

* * *

(2 June 988, 1030 Hours)  
(Republic of Vector, Capital City, Eastern Side)

"I will have none of it, given your reputation, young lady," the fusty old baker commented with a stern expression.

Flay nodded contemplatively. It was not an unheard response for her, especially in Vector where it was easy to check her background with the Archangel Team. Roughly half the city knew the story of Kira Yamato and Flay Allster, and the other half would pick it up fast enough if they had need to ask.

Rejection had been hard on her, but the cold reality slap-to-the-face effect of being discharged dishonorably from the Warship only served to make things worse in the end. Flay was, by definition, clinically depressed, after coming off a 'high' of psychosis that she could never really execute. Since her discharge, she had drifted from job to job, never employed for more than three weeks at a time, homeless more than not, effectively destitute with the loss of her position on the Archangel.

At the least, years of a hard life had broke her of any measure of arrogance she once held. She wasn't properly humbled, just complacent and disheartened by her continual shifting of fate.

"Thank you," Flay answered meekly before she turned away from the baker's counter.

Outside on the busy streets of Vector's East End Commercial District, Flay looked around for any shop owners she had not thus far asked for a job this week. Thirty seconds of looking around brought her to the conclusion that she was out of options on this block. After a quick sigh, she turned south and began walking for the next block.

The next block south held a different merchant sector, this one mostly of merchandise and not foodstuffs. Flay figured she had a better chance here, given that her past failures were non-damaging (a failure to cook properly cost the business the material, not so much in merchandise). She had hit some of the stores for a request, but most she had not asked in more than a month, so she headed into the first one on the east side of the road.

It was only four seconds inside the door before she got the answer, and that even without asking. "No need to ask, Allster. I am already full staff," the more kindly proprietor said.

"Thank you," Flay answered, then turned to the door and was out on the street in seconds.

She considered where to go next, wanting to minimize movements and thus wasted energy. Given she normally found or received one meal a day when unemployed, energy was something she did not want to waste. Vector was not a particularly charitable city, so she was thinking about taking a hike to Tzen or Maranda to try her fortunes there, away from the city where the _Archangel_ ruled in deed if not name.

She turned south to continue her search, but make only a pace before a random voice stopped her. "Job-hunting again, Flay Allster?"

Flay turned around to see who was asking, though she found herself rather surprised to see it was nobody she had ever met in her life. "It's all I can do," Flay answered after a moment of staring at the man with the silver hair and strange trenchcoat.

"I don't think you're looking for a job, I think you are looking for a purpose," the silver-haired man said. "You're not going to find a purpose here, in these stores," and he waved a finger at the line of shoppes across the road.

"Probably not, but at least I live for a few more days," Flay answered tiredly.

"And then what? Work for a few weeks, get kicked out, start the cycle over again?" he asked after he took a step closer to her. "This may not be dying, but it certainly isn't a living." After a moment of non-reaction from Flay, he grunted. "Look, you want to do something that isn't a dead-end, or no?"

That caused something of a spark of reaction from Flay. "What are you offering?" Allster asked after a few moments of thinking about it.

"I heard you were trained as a pilot for a while." His comment caused another flare of reaction from the former _Archangel_ crewmember. "I need someone who understands pressure and procedure, two things pilots are good at. In return, I am offering a job and full living accommodations on my airship. Sound like an offer?"

"What is the job?" Flay asked. Given he mentioned 'his airship', that made who she was speaking to fairly obvious: Setzer Gambiani, the infamous wandering gambler.

"Casino Operator."

After a few moments, Flay realized that operating an Airship's casino would be a step toward what she really wanted — the flexibility to make her own decisions, denied first in the brig cell, and thereafter in her inability to find stability in Vector. "I will learn," Flay decided.

"You will have much to learn. Come, the airport is not far."

-x-x-x-

(10 June 988, 1200 Hours)  
(Republic of Vector Capital Fortress)

"This is the first and loudest problem we are going to have with the bureaucracy," Natarle complained. "All these persons running for Council Seats, with two exceptions, are persons I would not trust to lead a straight march to Madame Jearle's Whorehouse."

"Madame Jearle is actually on the list for the Council Seats, such as it is, Commander," her personal Siren summon noted, looking over the list.

"And she is one of those pair that I would trust, the other being Mokkden, the lumber mill operator from the Southeast. The rest? At best, corrupt, at worst, vultures circling in preparation for a death I shall prevent."

The Siren sighed, then set down the list. "With friends of this caliber, we have no need for enemies."

"Sad but true," Natarle confirmed.

"Milady Natarle, reports are in from the western mining operation. Do you want it on the left stack, or right?" Her Carbuncle asked.

"Right stack, thank you." It was Natarle turn to sigh. "Is there any other decent figures, industry or professional, that we can tap for the Council?"

"I can think of none, Milady," the Carbuncle answered.

"Same, Commander. Anyone capable of the duty is already using that capability in personal gain," the Siren answered.

"So, we are stuck with a wildly corrupt council, effectively, unless the Outlands can deliver unto us pure candidates for the Council," Natarle half grumped. "And, as a check, I can prevent the Council from enacting overtly corrupt policies with veto powers."

"And they will assuredly block your initiatives by defunding them," the office Political Specialist countered from the doorway.

"Better a case of corruption causing dysfunction, than dysfunction allowing rampant corruption," Natarle noted.

"I know you said historically this is best way to avoid rampant abuse of power, but..." the Political Specialist trailed her sentence off.

"No, it cannot be avoided," Natarle leaned back against her desk. "I modeled the system after America, only with more lockdown on the government, because historically it took America the longest to go completely in the tank — 160 years for the onset of major failures, and 220 years for effective collapse into a cycle of self-destruction. My home state, the Atlantic Federation, started corrupt and only got worse as the years went by. No sense modeling it after that failure."

"These things are inevitable," the Siren commented. "Even among the Summons, the term 'dynastic cycle' is in use. A dynasty rises, lasts a few centuries, collapses into ruin. We are phlegmatic about such things, and simply wait for the next major power to ascend to continue the cycle. No need for war, really."

"I wish it were that simple with humans," Natarle sighed again. "We can expect the same thing here, in about 300 years or so. I can only hope what comes out on the far end of that next revolution is honorable to the task."

"We will all be dead and gone by then, memories and dust if we are lucky," the Carbuncle noted. "The future is for the future. We need to worry about the here and now, and what to do about the corruption to come."

"And that is the problem all in one thought," Natarle brought the conversation full circle. "If we had only one more," she considered.

"If we had one more, Commander?" Mina asked from the doorway. Natarle knew the Helmswoman would be one of the few to bail, given she had a daughter to worry about and the life of adventure was not appropriate for a former waitress that jumped onto the ship simply to escape Twycross.

"One more council member that was not directly corrupt," Natarle completed the thought. "If I had one more, plus the outlanders giving us a full deck on our side of the line, we would have the ability to really clean up this town and get the Republic heading in the right direction."

"One more...what does it take to become a Council member?" Mina asked.

"Residence in your district for a year, and since you are an Archangel Team member you fall under those provisions for eligibility, which means you could apply if you wanted for...District 7, Tomnius is your major foe. Insanely corrupt bastard. I may have to give you security during the election cycle, he is a known underworld figure."

"I'll do it, on one proviso," Mina said.

"Name it," Natarle replied.

"If he takes me out, see to my daughter for me. If he takes my daughter out, I will see to him."

Natarle hesitated for a few moments. "I will definitely see to your daughter if it goes that far. Welcome to the race of politics."

-x-x-x-

(15 June 988, 2300 Hours)  
(Airship _Blackjack_, parked south of Zozo)

Flay learned fast how to work the tables and operate as both a croupier and as a manager. On the off-shifts, she tended to do more managerial work for Setzer, on the heavy shifts she ran a roulette table.

Setzer had been right about Flay, but not for the reason he initially fronted. She wasn't really looking for a purpose, she was looking for flexibility, and looking for a way to rebuild the life that was effectively destroyed by the war on her homeworld. It may not have seemed intuitive to an outside observer, but a Casino Operator position gave Flay the manner of flexibility she needed to move forward in this arena.

Of course, being good at something also tended to help generate flexibility. Flay was very good at detecting cheats, scammers, criminals, and scoundrels at her games, almost overnight bringing the casino revenue in line with house expectations. In game management, she certainly had the skills to run everything Setzer offered, and with a few more daring croupier on the staff the tables were always active.

"Black 24," Flay reported the result of the roulette spin. "You, 'spikes', don't think I am not watching your betting action. Grab that lady's winnings next to you, and I will have your arse down in the engine room to be mulched," Flay warned him.

"I'm on the level, here," he responded indignantly, though nobody else at the table believed him.

"Uh-huh," Flay answered sarcastically as she finished up paying out and collecting in the house's winnings. She only paid out 400 this round, but took in 2950, a fairly light haul at this table. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," Flay said before she began the wheel spin for the next round. As she always did, she made sure all the bets were on the level; she paid special attention to 'Spikes' to make sure he was not trying to swindle his rivals or scam the house.

Once the bets were out on the table, Flay dropped the marble onto the wheel surface for it to begin making the trek around the spinning wheel. It always took roughly a minute, though eventually the marble would lose position, drop down into one of the slots, and ride it out. "Red 13," Flay declared the result.

There were only a few stacks to push out, some 630 total, but more than a few to pull in with her bridge rod, a total of over 6500 gil worth of chips. Once the winnings were disbursed, Flay set things up for the next run by setting the wheel to spinning. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," the 'Lady of the Tables' requested.

A short burst of Thompson caused a wave of shouts and screeches from the patrons of the casino, but Flay was the first to react properly by slamming her security barrier closed on the roulette table. Once that was accomplished, she looked toward the shooter to assess the situation.

"This is a raid! Nobody move!" The lead threat shouted, bringing his Thompson down from where he had shot a burst into the ceiling to bring it level with the crowd. Three in black jumpsuits, one armed with a Thompson, one with an Enfield, and one with a mace (1) that looked pretty wicked with spikes and a flanged head.

"Anybody that moves will be slain! If you resist, you and the man next to you will be shot! Now, everyone down to their knees!" the rifleman shouted.

"You! At the roulette table! I want that glove!" the Maceman said.

"What, this?" Flay waved her left hand at the guy.

"Yeah," he said.

"Sure, here," Flay stripped it off with a practiced gesture. "Consider yourself cursed if you can keep it," she said before she threw it to him.

"Cursed? What?" After a moment, the glove polymorphed into semi-luminescent water and flowed through his fingers to land on the floor. On the ground, it reformed into her glove.

"What the hell?" the submachine gunner asked, nudging it with his foot.

The glove proved to be the perfect distraction for Flay. Unlike the three Magic Knights, Flay always considered the glove (and the kodachi within) a backup weapon, not a primary. Her preferred primary, and something very easy for her to acquire after her first steady payday, was a 1911A1 from the new production line in Vector. The two thugs in black never even saw her draw it, so entranced were they by the glove.

The shots were stupidly easy for Flay — less than five yards in both cases. Tap, tap, one in the chest and one in the face to the punk with the Thompson. Traverse right, tap, tap, one in the heart and one in the left lung of the guy with the mace. Again, the shots brought forth more screeching from the patrons of the casino, though Flay was too ingrained into the combatant mindset to allow that to bother her in a crisis situation.

Flay looked up over the top edge of the roulette table to see the rifleman, and silently cursed her bad luck on his position. He was still on the raised balcony that surrounded the casino area, though he did not have a shot because of the table. Similarly, she did not have a shot with her pistol — the distance was over 25 yards, technically doable but not a guaranteed shot for an otherwise normal person. The other option — the Thompson — was technically out in the open, and Flay had no difficulty imagining how easy a shot she would have presented should she go for it. Movie heroics tended to get real people real dead in these situations, and jumping for the submachine gun was pure cinematic glory, not a valid plan in the here-and-now.

Before she ducked back down, a blur of black descended from the stairs behind the last bandit, culminating in an impact and another wild shot into the ceiling. The last bandit slid partway down the stairs, a pair of daggers in his back and the casino security officer jumped from his back partway into the room. There were some shouts as the black-armor-clad security officer / mercenary stood up, checking his surroundings, though Flay knew he was harmless to the patrons.

Allster stood up from behind the table, her hands visible and her 1911A1 on the floor and out of sight. "Shadow, that was the last of them. Area should be clear," Flay said.

"Understood," the ninja mercenary answered. "These two...your handiwork?" he kicked the maceman tentatively.

"Aye," Flay answered. "Idiots were distracted by my glove, so I punched holes in both," she commented. "Speaking of idiots, the punk with the spike hair headed for the door, just lifted winnings from four at this table."

"On it," Shadow answered coldly.

"What gives here?" Setzer asked before he had clear view to the deceased. "Oh, bandit raid?"

"Aye, sir, though put down ruthlessly quick," Flay reported.

"Huh, these were gunshots, not blades as Shadow uses. Who drilled them?" Setzer asked, looking around the patrons. He had expectation that roughly half the persons in the room were armed in one fashion or another.

"Actually sir, your Roulette Operator did," the off-duty Mayor of Zozo answered, waving his finger at Flay.

Setzer looked to Flay, who had just retrieved her pistol from the floor. He said nothing immediately, just watched as the 'Lady of the Tables' did a 'reload with retention', where she dropped the partial magazine into her left hand between pinky and ring finger, rotated her hand slightly to center the pistol over a fresh magazine at her index finger, and rammed it home. The pistol went back into her 'concealed' back holster and her partial magazine went into a magazine pouch on her back left, also mostly concealed.

"I gather from your expression, good sir, that is not common pistol practice?" a high-roller asked Setzer.

"No, but then again, she is a combat veteran from the Archangel Team. She learned from the best."

Without even trying, Setzer had put a serious dent in Flay's bad reputation. Some would continue to disrespect her, but the story at the forefront of most people's minds was her slaying of bandits trying to rob a casino.

-x-x-x-

(18 June 988, 2015 Hours)  
(Fortress Vector, Mobile Weapons hangar)

"This is the video from King 3, engaging hard target with primary gun," the operations analyst said. The reel tape played through for several minutes until the target came into view. King 3 stopped, sighted, and took the shot with supreme accuracy. "This was a direct violation of engagement requirements, King 3. Explain yourself."

"Sir, I was behind partial cover and had no threats in the vicinity. I saw no need to continue moving and chance missing the shot when it was unneeded, sir. The penetrator slugs in use by the Rex units are 400 gil apiece, and will bury themselves 100 yards into solid rock if you shoot at a mountainside; missing is a costly mistake, especially when it can be avoided, Captain!" the pilot of King 3 answered.

"Cheeky bastard," the Captain / Operations Analyst groused. "Okay, violation of training intent, though with the maintenance of the spirit of the Rex units. Fair enough, Commander?"

"Aye, decent enough work for our purposes, though you need to get used to taking moving shots with the primary gun, King 3," Commander Badgiruel noted. Her performance was already logged and critiqued, though she had indeed failed the moving shot on her course she had immediately switched over to TekMissiles and unloaded her machine's silos into the hard target. It was not as spectacular, but she kept moving and the massive firepower solution still did the job in the end.

King Formation was a play on the 'Rex' part of the name Magitech Gear Rex, in that Rex translated from latin into King. Of the Rex units built by the Empire, four survived the engagements on the Southern Continent in a state capable of being repaired. Per the treat, more could not be built without financial penalty and building a copy for both Figaro and Doma, so Natarle recommissioned the four surviving frames and salvaged what she could from units five and six. In all reality, with the world headed for peace at a rapid rate, the four salvaged units would likely never be needed. Natarle planned to keep them as aces, just in case they were needed, but so far she was not seeing any enemy that would warrant their use.

"Yes, Commander," the chastised pilot answered.

"Since Unit 4 was on hot standby, no footage from it. So, I think the only thing that needs to be said here is the premise of keeping moving. Speed may not be armor, but standing around like a dipdunk whilst the enemy takes shot at you...not a good way to reach retirement age." The pilots chuckled briefly. "Debriefing concluded. Dismissed."

Natarle was the first out the door, as would be her position in the unit. Once clear of the debrief room, she went left, then right, then right again, and down the stairs into the hangar for the Rex units. It was not somewhere she often visited, but she did do training missions once a month as was needed for the Rex units.

The hangar existed in the northern mountain ranges of Vector, close enough that the Rex units could reasonably respond to an attack on the city but not close enough to conjure fear of the Empire from the Vector citizens. In all reality, the definitely would not see combat while the _Archangel_ was nearby Vector; for anything that could come down the pike, that one Warship would be overkill. The Magitek Gear Rex units would be the Republic's best defensive armor option after the ship left, of course, but that day was still some time into the future.

Natarle leaned against the catwalk rail and stared across the hangar to King 2. They definitely showed of some influence from the Mobile Suits and the Battlemechs, particularly the chicken-walker legs of the Mad Dog and the arm-cannon design ethos of Clan Omnis in general. The rest was Magitek on a wholly unnatural scale compared to the smaller personal units, though the units converted well to diesel-electric after some rewiring. Ironically, the fire rate of the main gun improved by the jump to diesel-electric, and did not specifically require input from a lightning-magic Esper to run any more.

Staring at the unit under maintenance was good for another sigh, when she realized she was procrastinating on something she needed to do. Technically, her hedging on the whole 'will I / won't I' about retaining her position as CIC Commander on the _Archangel_ was bad form; the longer she put it off, the harder it would be to find a replacement. Still, her heart was no longer with the ship; it had been her home, but now there was nothing left in her real home world to look forward to. After a hellish tour such as they had, Natarle expected summary execution from the Atlantic Federation. If the EA would not tolerate Coordinators any more, they sure as hell would not tolerate a mismatch crew of magic-users, Magic Knights, and foreign powers aplenty.

She did not notice the new arrival immediately, but she did notice King Edgar lean up against the catwalk rail next to her. "Hard to believe, they designed these things on a wild-ass guess and a purpose of shooting your ship down."

"Desperate men, desperate measures," Natarle judged. "I wish the ship luck, though, in coming adventures. They will need it."

"You do not intend to go?" Edgar asked.

"After two years here, learning the summoning arts, building a government from whole cloth, I find I have no desire left to go home. There is nothing remaining for me on that world except death and destruction. At least here I can build something useful."

"And here I thought I would have to plead a case to convince you to stay," Edgar groused.

"Oh? How so?" Natarle asked warily.

Edgar wagged his thumb, something of a nervous twitch of his. "I was to do the usual run on honor, duty, charity, that sort of thing, but those are stories you could just as easily give lessons upon to most residents of this world," King Figaro noted with a wry smile. "I find myself now considering something a little more lofty." Natarle was not directly looking at the King, and missed what actions he was taking by hand, but the glint of a reflective object did catch her attention — when she looked to the object, she found herself stunned to be staring at a rather significant ring.

"What? You — me?" Natarle asked in clear shock.

"Aye, I ask your hand in marriage, Natarle Badgiruel," Edgar asked formally. "I ask not for matters of state, but because I have found no lady more captivating in the world than you."

"That's...wow, thank you," Natarle said. "I accept."

-x-x-x-

(21 June 988, 0210 hours)  
(Imperial Teleporter Network, Control Facility Observation Booth)

"This chapter is written; now the actors depart the stage," Locke Cole said.

"Hard to believe that ship has gone the distance, and still has farther to go," Edgar noted.

"Thine fortunes are elsewhere," Lord Cyan Garamonde noted.

"Teleporter Control, this is _Archangel_, we are in position and ready for the jump," Kuzzey Buskirk declared over the radio.

The Lead Teleporter Technician clicked down the talk switch on the radio console. "_Archangel_, Teleport Control, we are powering up the system now. Fifteen seconds." Other technicians were doing the major inputs, though it did not last long. "_Archangel_, Teleport Control, systems are ready. Good luck and the speed of the Gods to you, saviors from another world. Jump initiated, detonation in three, two, one, n—" he choked up when the ship disappeared. "It is done," the lead tech said to nobody in particular.

"This is not their world," Edgar said by way of consolation. "Where they go, though, it is far worse than even the Empire."

"They walk into the chaos of Existence; may God look over them in coming trials," Doom said reverently.

"They will need it," Poltergeist said. "In the past couple hundred thousand years, Existence has become a downright unfriendly place to be. I certainly wouldn't want to be drifting from dimension to dimension in this day and age, who knows what you'll come across?"

"The ship _Archangel_ has its own guardian angels, mind you," Jaide the Goddess noted. "Something about the ship...I do not want to say it reminds me of the Crystal Executor that entombed us in stone, but something on that ship is not far off that Executor."

"You mean a hitchhiker?" Natarle asked the Goddess.

"Maybe. I couldn't pin it, but I could tell something was in the ship," she answered contemplatively. "Maybe I was sensing the ship itself, maybe I was picking something else up."

"It is their story, now, hitchhiker or not," Natarle said definitively. "Our story continues for ourselves, in the here and now."

"Well said," Locke responded immediately. "If you shall excuse me, Highness, Commander, I have a search to resume."

"By all means, Locke," Edgar answered, stepping aside to allow the 'treasure hunter' to pass.

"Our duty here is done," Doom noted. "I, we, have business with the Executor...or whoever has taken her place. We shall be here on planet for a few more days, but our next stop is elsewhere. We have debts to reap, and lives to restart."

"Good luck and godspeed," Natarle nodded respectfully to Doom. He teleported away first, followed closely by Poltergeist, leaving only the lady among the three.

"Be of good cheer, Commander Badgiruel," Jaide said. "You walked away because you no longer saw a goal with the ship, but a goal here. Do not hold it against yourself; your duty is what you choose to be your duty, not what others think it should be."

"Aye, thank you," Natarle said to the Goddess. "What will you do, out there in the new worlds?"

"Of this, I do not know," Jaide answered. "Doom can sell his services as a reaper; likewise with Poltergeist, but as a mercenary. Myself? I have only raw magical power, no real purpose. I am sure I can find a few things, but..."

Natarle smiled, sensing the trepidation in the divine being across the short gap from herself. "Do not fret, milady. You shall find something, even if just as a symbol somewhere, though I am assured you will do better still. You can admit your mistakes, and that puts you decades ahead of many."

"Thank you, Commander. Congratulations to you and the King," she nodded to Edgar. "I must be off, we have preparations to make before we leave."

Without further word, Jaide departed the room by way of teleportation, likely to the Eastern Gate and thereafter into the land of the Espers. All that remained in the room were two of the teleport techs, Natarle, Cyan, and Edgar.

"And this is where I am supposed to say something, but...nothing comes to mind," Commander Badgiruel grumped. "I will certainly miss them, miss the ship, but Jaide was right. That is no longer my goal or my duty."

"Thine goals are around you, now," Cyan noted. "By your leave, Highness, milady?"

"Thank you, Lord Garamonde," Edgar answered. Once Cyan continued, Edgar moved to a new subject, and one altogether more pressing for the Republic of Vector and the Kingdom of Figaro. "Now, how goes the election cycle?"

"It goes well," Natarle answered calmly. "The actual elections will be held on the 27th, and inaugurations on the first of July."

"And your chances, love?" Edgar asked.

"I don't think I will win," Natarle admitted. "If not, at least I have started it on the right footing."

-x-x-x-

(24 June 988, 1630 Hours)  
(Airship _Blackjack_, In flight from Mobliz to Maranda)

The operations pace on the airship was fairly lax — of a day, Flay typically only actively worked ten hours and had the other fourteen to herself for sleep, eating, shower time, or recreational. Granted, outside of the casino, there wasn't much in the way of recreation on the ship, but the ship itself was plenty of recreation. Simply standing out on the foredeck of the airship, watching the terrain go by (in this case, the veldt southwest of Mobliz) was plenty different from her prior pursuits of jail-cell artwork or scraping from one job to the next.

"It's a different world up here, eh boss-lady?" the blackjack dealer asked as she stood to the ship's rail.

"Different, definitely, Epona," Flay answered the technically subordinate Table Staffer. Flay was the ship's greenhorn, but she was also technically the Casino Operator, not just another table dealer. Setzer had put her in charge of the casino, since he could not find anyone capable of flying the ship that he trusted.

"What was your world like?" Epona asked after a few moments of watching Cephaler being chased down by ChickenLip packs.

"Beautiful, like this, but twisted at a political level," Flay admitted after a moment of considering how to phrase it. "It's taken me this long to see where I went wrong, but it's obvious now. Gestahl was no different from the monsters of my homeland, and I'm glad I walked away." Flay sunk lower, to the point that her head was almost touching the rail. "I was part of that nightmare. Oh God, was I part of that nightmare. I lost my father to the war, and I tried turning my boyfriend into a butchering machine for it. Oh, good Gods, did I go wrong."

"Whoa," Epona grumped. "Did not mean to touch this off, sorry," she admitted before she pushed away from the rail.

"If you don't want to go, don't," Flay said emphatically. "I wasn't...trying to push anyone away."

"No, it's just, I knew you had some mess back there, didn't want to push on it, though," Epona answered calmly.

"No, you're not, it's just...my life is, or was, or still is, such a mess, and you have a right to know. We're all on this ship together, at least until it lands again. Might be a bit rough of a drop from here," Flay said, gesturing over the rail toward the ground below.

"It's your life, boss. If it don't come knocking, I'm not going to worry," Epona said after she rejoined Flay at the rail.

"Sure?" Flay nudged.

"I've heard enough of the rumors to piece it together," the Blackjack dealer commented. "Shit circumstances, you pushed on your boyfriend until he folded, then when he rejected you, you went ape. Captain locked you in the brig until the war was over, then booted you off the Archang — oh, no, I forgot!"

"Forgot what?" Flay asked in confusion at her sudden panic.

"I didn't tell you a couple days ago! I'm sorry!" Epona said, still covering her mouth in shock.

"Seriously, what are you talking about? Tell me what?" Flay asked.

"The _Archangel_ — it left for its next destination three days ago, before sunrise." Flay looked out over the Veldt again, but said nothing for several minutes. After the silence became unbearable, Epona had to ask. "Are you mad at me, Flay?"

"No," Flay answered calmly. "No, I'm not angry about this in any way. Just...regretful. Another chapter in my life, another thing I never got to do. I hope they aren't too pissed off at me for not seeing them off, or even apologizing for how badly I screwed Kira."

"Kira...your boyfriend?" Epona asked after a moment's silence between them.

"I don't know what we really were, and that's half the problem. We weren't boyfriend/girlfriend, not really, but we were...something. And I hurt him badly, and now I can't apologize for it." After a moment of listening to the wind whistle by, Flay sighed. "I accept this, though. That life is over, and today is today. Time for me to act like it."

-x-x-x-

(1 July 988, 0800 Hours)  
(Republic Of Vector Capital Fortress, Southern Muster Grounds)

"I, Natarle Badgiruel, do so swear to uphold the constitution of the Republic of Vector, and defend the citizens, the lands, and the Constitution from all threats, foreign or domestic, and to uphold all laws fairly, with justice and honor."

"Congratulations, Commander Badgiruel," General Leo said after she completed the oath. Natarle received the ceremonial sword that Leo had prepared for the ceremony, a common broadsword with an inscription on the blade that matched the oath she had sworn.

Natarle turned to the gathered crowds of citizens of Vector — mostly humans, but also a leavening of Espers in that rank. More than a few of the aerial-types were perched on the old walls of the fortress, where they could see the action but save the floor space for the ground-bound audience. Somewhere in the crowd was also her two summons — a Carbuncle and a Siren, who were personally vested in the successes of the Republic of Vector. She had offered her summons a position in the dignitaries box, but they politely refused.

"Citizens of the Republic! Welcome to the beginning of our new future, the birth of a free nation released from the shackles of the Empire!" She had to wait a few seconds for the cheering to subside, which was expected. "Today, we complete the full transition to the new Republic government, and hereafter we decide our destinies by the ballot box, not the sword." Again, she had to pause for the cheering, though she could also recognize some from the Espers.

"As I see it, for the next five years, the major goal of the Republic is to improve the economy and the living conditions of the citizens. Our secondary goal is to improve relations and strengthen friendships with the other nations of the world. We are no longer conquerors, we need to act like the neighbors we properly are."

Natarle took the obligatory pause to listen to the cheering, though she also observed thoroughly. The Espers were the main focus; weapons of war from long ago, they were looking for a way to make sure the Empire did not happen again, and also looking for a way to fit into the complex political and economic structure of the world. She knew intrinsically, however, they would have to find that path on their own; Regent Badgiruel could keep Vector under control, but the Espers were their own game.

"In common practice from my former homeland, a President would use these speeches for personal political gain, or to push their own initiatives for national political gain. I refuse to play those kinds of games; I have no agenda to push, though if you have suggestions I shall listen. The only way to correct the problems that exist in the Republic is to know what the problems are."

Natarle listened for the Espers, and could hear some of the Palidor and Aska. Their voices were distinctive, as were the much larger Phoenix and Bahamut, and Natarle could pick them all out amongst the cheering. That more than most was enough of a display that the Espers approved the direction things were going.

"This is our future! These will be times that try our resolve, but we can build a new nation, an honorable nation, for our children and our children's children!"

Natarle could scarcely hear her own thought process over the cheering and roars of some of the Espers. On that, she knew she had the right of it — a world was wearied of the Empire's policies, and the citizens of that Empire were ready to build their own futures by their own rules.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

On the face of it, this chapter does not look like much. That is deliberate — this story, much like every other story of mine, has a warmup period before the brown material conflicts with the ventilation devices.

In this case, though, this is all the grace period that will be had. Starting next chapter, a background element of the Returner-Empire conflict comes to the fore — Unfortunately, nobody that would have had foreknowledge of this feud-to-be survived the raid or the skirmishing afterwards, and the primary 'deal broker with the devil' died by way of Newman's sniper rifle.

Now, on to the meat of the chapter. You didn't see Flay doing anything in the main AAA line after she was booted off the ship, and for a reason. Murrue ordered her to stay clear of the ship or the crew, and that is what happened. Here, you see the tail end of that, a depressed lady going from job to job, achieving nothing of note. Setzer gave her an option to get out of the morass and into a career path that moved her away from the slums, and so far she has stepped in the right direction. Whether or not she holds that path, only time shall tell.

Natarle is the meat of the chapter here. I intended this section to mostly fill in the behind-the-scene gaps in the last Gaia chapter of AAA. I think this is the breaking point with the old material, though; the coming chapters are divorced of the _Archangel_, but not of its influence. The greatest thing the Archangel gave the world, even above warfare techniques and technologies, is the understanding that they can make a difference, they have a hope, and they have their sovereignty. That will be the difference that makes all the difference; all that remains is to see how it is applied.

Right now, I don't need to mention anything else. Stay tuned for more coming along; I have added this story into the rotation until it is completed, though it should be short.

**NEXT UP**: A ghost from Emperor Gestahl's past comes back to haunt everyone, human and Esper alike. Of course, Natarle knows how to deal with ghosts...

* * *

**Review Replies**:

No reviews yet, so stay tuned!

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

As this is the first chapter, no gripes yet!

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(0): Or you can not read the footnotes, and sometimes miss what I meant by a given turn of phrase or concept. Your call, but I recommend you read them. I put the footnotes here for a reason.

(1): Mace is a medieval weapon used to crush the armor a soldier would wear...and by extension also crush the soldier below that armor.


	2. The Price of Past Debts

(Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Side Story 01: The Regent Of Vector And The Lady Of The Ships)  
(Chapter 02: The Price Of Past Debts)

(**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: This story was always intended to be a play on the typical small size of a Final Fantasy world, and what it would look like if that world was not as small as it first appeared. I will better explain this in the author's notes.)

(2 February 989, 1600 Hours)  
(Airship _Blackjack_, Airspace north of Vector, in transit to Albrook)

"Course ten to port," Flay's navigator ordered.

"Ten to port, aye," Flay answered immediately as she turned the wheel over. After a few moments, the magnetic compass began changing heading, though she overshot her destination and had to compensate a few degrees. "My course is now 1-9-0, speed one quarter forward," Flay read off her decidedly limited instruments.

"We're on course to pass over the western suburbs of Vector," the Navigator read off her take of the chart and the ship's new heading.

"We'll pass well clear of the city periphery," Setzer commented. "West winds will drive us outside the city limits."

"I keep forgetting that," Flay admitted, having know that the winds always tended to shift around the _Archangel_ in flight.

"It will be a little, but you'll get a feel for these things in a few months at the helm," Setzer admitted.

"Looking forward to it," Flay admitted. There had been some trepidation when she began controlling the _Blackjack_, but after a few days it became a thrill, the unknown quantity of flying a large craft that she had been denied when stuck in the brig of the _Archangel_.

"Continue to destination. We should be there in roughly six hours. I'll be down below, supervising the casino, if you need anything." Without further word, Setzer was away from the helm station and seconds later was down into the sub-decks of the ship.

The navigator was silent for a few minutes, going between working on the charts and trying to make sure Setzer was not there. "One question, milady Flay?" she asked after a moment and assurances that they were alone.

"Sure, shoot," Flay said after a moment.

"Were you really a pilot for the Archangel Team? And why did you give that up?" the navigator asked.

"Yes and no," Flay answered. "I was trained — briefly — as a pilot, I was going to drive the Buster after Dearka Elsman was killed in combat while piloting it."

"That's...ghastly," the Navigator noted.

"I never had a chance to complete the training," Flay admitted. "I was rightly accused of attempted fratricide. I spent months in the brig after that, then was booted off the ship after the war here in the south was completed. Couldn't go back to the ship, couldn't hold a government position, couldn't escape my reputation. Couldn't hold a job for more than a fortnight until Setzer picked me up and put me on this ship."

"I...never knew, sorry—"

"Not your fault," Flay admitted. "That's the past. I'm not worried about where I've been, so much as where I am going. So, how long until the next maneuver?"

"Not too long, once we pass over the outskirts of Vector West," the navigator opined. "Should be roughly 90 minutes."

"Got it," Flay answered. After a minute, the helmswoman decided a question of her own was in order. "What about you? What brought you to the ship?"

"What, me? Nothing so exciting as your tale, milady Allster," she hedged.

"The excitement gets old, especially when you're always afraid whenever the hull of your ship creaks," Flay countered. "Seriously, though, you're not the normal thrill-seeker, and you pack two 1911s. There has to be a reason for having that much firepower."

The navigator straightened up a bit when called out in such a fashion, proving to Flay that she had struck a nerve on the slightly-older deckhand. "I was a resident of Jidoor, until I stowed away on the ship slightly after the war ended. My father was trying to arrange a marriage to a complete weakling that I couldn't stand, said it would be good for his business."

"And, of course, nary a thought for you or what you want," the helmswoman said derisively.

"Of course, never matters what the lady thinks of an arranged marriage," the navigator complained. "I climbed in by way of an access hatch on the bottom of the ship, and took my case right to Setzer. He laughed, and escorted me home. Father locked me in my room, but I climbed out the window and stowed away on the ship again. Setzer decided I was fit for the crew on determination alone after finding me on the ship a second time."

"You're definitely handy with a map, though," Flay admitted.

"I want to draw maps, not just read them and plot movements," the navigator admitted.

It would be a prescient desire, and one put to good use for a very unexpected reason.

-x-

(4 hours later)

Given the course information was painfully obvious to Flay (avoid mountains on port side, avoid mountains on starboard side, move forward), the navigator had locked down the map table and was hanging over the rails, looking at the ground.

"Anything interesting out there?" Flay asked. "More to the point, do you see the Eastern Desert yet?"

"Herd of ChickenLip critters moving down there," the navigator noted. "Damn good thing we're up here, and they're down there, those nasties can cause small earthquakes."

"I heard. We once had a flock of them invade the hangar of the _Archangel_, they wreaked a lot of havoc just by biting and scratching the maintenance staff," Flay recounted the short version of the incident. She had technically not been there by dint of being in the brig at the time, but the story made its way to her through Mirillia.

"Don't see the desert, yet," the navigator noted. "I am seeing something though, looks like a lot of...scrap metal? No, wait, scrapped Magitek units?"

"Can't be, we're too far south for the Battle of the Eastern Gap," Flay noted. She had flown over that battle scene twice since taking up the duty of a crewmember, and it was a favored tourist attraction to see where the Empire bled its soul out into the grasses of the Southern Continent.

"No, serious, this is a huge scattering of Magitek, bigger area than the Eastern Gap, but a lot less units overall," the Navigator noted. "Oh, wait...these are all Air Armor types."

"Ah, the Battle of the Southern Skies," Flay judged. "Magic Knight Fuu Hououji and the Espers against the Imperial Air Force."

"Oh, wow, it was here?" the Navigator asked, looking a little further over the bar toward the ground.

"Don't hang too far out, it's a long way to the ground," Flay cautioned her.

"Oh, I'm good," the Navigator pulled back. "Speaking of Espers, there's a Terrato moving through the land toward the Old Gate. And there's the desert."

"Okay, that means we go to starboard, and the town should be roughly thirty minutes away," Flay noted. "Course recommendation?"

The Navigator was back to her duty station when Flay requested a maneuver suggestion. "Come right to course 2-0-0, maintain speed, and we should be right over the town in forty or so."

-x-x-x-

(22 May 989, 1030 Hours)

Natarle had not been the wildest person in her Academy days, but she was far from innocent. Still and all, she had made sure that she was not in the wrong bed at the wrong time lo those many days ago. She had known other officers who were in the wrong bed at the wrong time, and a couple were discharged for it. Others had the 'problem' 'seen to' by the academy medical staff, but Natarle would not go that route. She had simply avoided the problem entirely, and focused on surviving the academy.

Today, though, different lands, different rules, and different desires. She didn't have a poisonous political atmosphere to suffer for her personal time; on the contrary, she wrote the rules for the Republic of Vector and the ready expectation for being the Queen of Figaro would be some 'personal time' with the King. Of course, one thing leads to another, and in the middle of October Natarle realized she was headed for parenthood.

All told, Natarle was not the first Republic of Vector staff member to probate the maternity leave. The first time had validated Natarle's recommendation of three weeks leave after and a month before due date. Natarle had become the third person in government service to call upon the maternity leave, by which time staff rotation had been worked out. All told, three weeks of R&R from that experience had been enough for the Regent of Vector to start worrying about the affairs in town.

The only question standing was one raised by some of the other mothers in the Republic employ: can a day-care be sited in the old fortress at Vector, for all the staff? Finding an unused room in the basement area of the Capitol was not a difficult challenge, and finding a good staff complement to be paid out-of-pocket by the Republic personnel who had children in the day-care was easy enough in Vector. Natarle figured it took all kinds; for her, it was not so much as dodging being a parent as it was her rampant and variable schedule. With both parents hard at work to secure a proper future for the kids, Natarle would pick up readily after work and on the weekends. By all accounts, that was more than she received from her parents in years past.

"Welcome back, milady," Executive Secretary Mina noted as Natarle entered the main office area.

"Mina, it's good to be back. Have I missed anything major in the past few weeks?"

Mina smiled a little savagely. "Only the office bet pool on the kid's gender," the secretary answered coldly.

"Oh? Who won?" Natarle asked, given that the bet pool had not been known to her before she left.

"The guys, to a man, voted for a boy," Mina answered.

"Oh, ouch," Natarle suppressed a giggle. "That had to be painful."

"There were a couple shirts that had to be ransomed back," Mina nodded twice, thinking about something. "Don't worry about the break room, either, the guys will be re-painting it here in a couple weeks out of personal funds. It is the most lovely shade of pink, though."

"Sounds pretty serious," Natarle judged. She made a mental note not to throw into a bet pool in this office, unless she could somehow rig the bet in her favor. "Okay, what is the major business of the day?"

"First, you have a trade summit in a week, Thamasa, Espers and Vector. Three weeks out, we have the budget stop-point, so you'll need to grease the rails for that to pass."

"Damn good to be back to work," Natarle said offhand, though even to herself it sounded hollow and slightly worried. Of course, her complaint was only recursive, given her worry fell into the category of 'stomping on your own landmine' in this case. She had wanted to put an end to the corruption of deficit spending in the government before it began, so a clause in the nation's constitution required a balanced budget every six months. Unfortunately, some of the 'opposition' in the representatives were still convinced the Empire had a massive reserve of funds, so...

"Oh yeah, welcome back," Mina said with a slight hint of sarcasm to voice. "I'm sure the Senate would love to hear from you on that subject. Anyways, the last major project on the table for this month is the grand opening of Vector's first arms factory." Mina hesitated, mulling something over. "If I may ask, why did you go with the old AKM? Can't we do better?"

"We can do better, yes, but right now we need reliable, easy-to-handle primary weapons. We also need to be ready to support our allies in Doma and Figaro, in case something goes wrong." The older Enfield bolt-action rifles had been retired to sniper duty or surplused to the civilians, when the major armies transitioned to the AKM as a primary weapon. Some would declare it a step backwards, but few could argue the hard-hitting power of an AK, especially when used in large quantities.

"Well, at least we're consistent," Mina groused. "I am not complaining, I should say. AK in the corner," and Natarle looked to where her secretary was pointing, to see an AK with double magazines and a bayonet waiting. "I was just thinking, those Rorynex sub-machine guns were so nice."

"Good to know it is there. Hope we don't need it."

It would be an unfounded hope, but a good thought for the rest of the day.

-x-x-x-

(30 May 989, 1030 Hours)  
(Daryl's Tomb, northeast of Zozo)

"Why is it, caves and tombs and the like always smell of..." the crewmember let her sentence trail off, unsure how to describe what she thought she was smelling.

"It's the way these things always work out," Flay answered quietly. "Be wary. My old glove is flashing; it only did that when the ship was in serious danger, so it may mean we are approaching a serious threat."

"Or it is approaching us," Setzer commented dryly. "If you haven't done so, make sure you're locked and loaded, but keep your safeties on."

Flay did not have to do anything to her Thompson SMG; she had loaded up before she set foot off the _Gambler_. The other crewmembers had made ready at the entrance to the tomb, except for one lady who drew back and dropped the bolt on her Kalashnikov when prompted. With that, the ten-man team was ready for whatever resided in the tomb. _Probably a giant-ass spider_, Flay thought but did not say.

Acquiring hardware was no difficult task for Setzer. He had money, he had contacts, and he was technically a contractor to the Figaro Military, so acquiring surplus weapons was a simple task. Hell, Flay was carrying two of the LAWS rockets on the possibility of 'encountering a hardened target' in the confines of the tomb, and everyone was carrying grenades of one or more types.

"Your charm changed, it's now flashing more frequently," a lady cardsharp noted.

"We may be getting closer," Flay guessed.

Something in the darkness ahead of them let out a yowl that sounded fairly close to a cheetah in tone but had something of a growling-hissing component to it, like a large reptile was doing the yowl.

"The hell makes that kind of noise?" The engine mechanic in the group asked.

"Hell makes that kind of noise," Shadow answered curtly. "Mad Oscar, or the older name Malboro. Very dangerous. Believed extinct."

Again, the thing roared-yowled, in such a fashion that Flay thought it was barely beyond the light of the torches. Her glove gem had lit completely to straight luminescent blue, ample evidence that they were headed directly for whatever this monster was.

"Well, time to put this one back on the extinct list," Setzer commented. "Flay, have a WP grenade you can toss forward for light?"

"On it," Flay slung her weapon, pulled a nondescript canister-style grenade, and yanked the pin with her ring finger (1). She tossed it underhand, far enough forward to clear the blast radius but not far enough that it would risk going down the staircase ahead of them as described by Setzer.

The grenade quickly disappeared into the darkness, followed by a quick yip from the unseen monster, then a loud slurping sound. "Don't tell me it ate the grenade," Setzer half-whined.

"I wish," Flay answered heartily. Few biological things in Existence could withstand burning WP inside their bodies...

The detonation of the grenade was audible as a muted pop, followed by a large toothy grin being backlit by burning phosphorus. "It ate the grenade," Setzer bemoaned.

The monster opened wide and howled in severe pain, as its innards were cooked by the half-pound of Phosphorus now burning inside it. "Hammer on it!" Flay shouted. Before anyone else could react, she brought the Thompson up, centered the peep sights below the wide-open and backlit mouth, and simply cut loose with the old 'trench broom'. Three seconds later, her bolt slammed closed on an empty chamber, but the sound and action around her was too much for her to even realize she was empty.

The last person shooting, well after the monster had been reduced to a pile of limp tentacles and green ichor, was the large guy with the M-60, though he stopped with half a belt of ammo still at the ready. What was left of the Phosphorous was enough light to see what they had wrought almost by accident, though finished deliberately and noisily. Flay took the pause to reload her weapon and lock the bolt in the open position (2), then advanced cautiously toward the monster while staring down the sights at it. Even when she neared the downed monster, the Malboro made no moves, just random twitches of its remaining intact tentacles.

Shadow approached the remnant of the monster and dropped a fire skein on its remains to add to the funeral pyre. Once it lit off, he waved the crew around the burning circle and toward the stairs to the next floor. A few tried shouting against their hearing loss, but nobody in the unit could understand from the sheer aural abuse caused by nine firearms in an enclosed space.

On the other hand, nobody could miss the foul stench of the deflated and cooking Malboro. Shadow appeared to hesitate, and Flay thought she could hear him gag once, but that was it. Setzer was the first among the group to get the full effect of it, and before he could even get past the Malboro he was barfing his breakfast out. With him starting, everyone else in the crew was not far behind. After one good retch in response to the stench, all but two were able to get down the stairs without further issue to the secondary basement. A couple of the lady crewmembers had to have a second go at it before they could escape properly.

"Okay, what is this about?" Flay asked loudly, looking over the reflected light and the pool of water.

"Simple," Setzer noted, pointing into the pool. "I created a water hazard here, to prevent bandits from coming in behind me and getting to the _Falcon_. Never mind the door guard that is barbecuing up above, though I am not claiming ownership of that."

"Okay, how do we clear the water? Or is someone going to have to get wet for this one?" Flay asked after a moment of watching the light reflections dance across the chamber ceiling.

"No need to dive in," the Gambler noted. He moved to one of the columns bordering the pond, pushed into a back facing of it, and twisted counterclockwise to trip an embedded switch.

"Water level is lowering," the galley crewman noted.

Several minutes later, the water level was below ankle level at its deepest, and more than not was bare ground below them. "Long way down."

"There are stairs, but we have to...go…" Setzer indicated the stairs up to the floor above, though he hesitated on the cooked Malboro.

"Hell with that," Flay groused. "I'm taking the direct route. Gina, the rope, please," Flay received the bundle of heavy rope a few moments later. She tied one end off to a column, and the other end she dropped down into the pond bed. The former Archangel Team member did nothing special to control the rope, she simply leaned slowly back over the edge and walked herself down the basin side until she reached the bottom. The rest of the staff followed suit, though two of the girls lost their footing on the way down and had to be caught when they finally fell.

The stairway down led to another chamber, which had a small stair up to a dais at the far end. "This is so well decorated! Did this used to be an ancient ruin or something?" Flay's navigator asked.

"No, I had all this built on commission, except for the resting place of the Falcon beyond Daryl's tombstone," Setzer explained. "When the _Falcon_ was wrecked, I had it restored and stowed it down here, then had the tomb commissioned around it. Daryl was a real piece of work, not even afraid of the fledgling Empire. She always wanted to go farther, higher, faster." He pushed through a heavy and much-embellished door, into a long causeway that ended in a small chamber. "This is her final resting place," Setzer waved to a large tombstone that had been draped in fine red silk; even after the years and in the torchlight, Flay could tell it was something special. "Come, the _Falcon_ is just beyond here."

The unit moved forward, except for Flay. She hesitated at the tombstone, and a quick pulse from her glove revealed the spectral outline of a being she thought she could sense. The ghost seemed to reach out to Flay, who hesitated for a moment before she reached out of her own accord with her left hand to the ghost's right. When the two contacted, a quick blue pulse from her magic glove and it was no more.

"Rest in peace, Daryl," Flay said briefly before she turned to the stairs down to the _Falcon_.

-x-x-x-

(20 July 989, 1430 Hours)  
(Onboard Red Wings Airship _Enterprise_)  
(Approaching Southern Continent East Coast)

"Do you think this is going to go over well?" The Dragoon Captain asked the higher-ranking officer on the ship.

"Probably not," Dark Knight Cecil Harvey answered after a few moments of contemplating it. "When we spoke several years ago, Gestahl was terminally greedy and his subordinate Kefka was insane. The likelihood that such circumstances have improved are pretty much nil."

"I expected as much," Dragoon Captain Kain Highwind groused. "I will have the ship ready to depart immediately, and at full alert in case something goes wrong."

"Good foresight," Cecil admitted. "Something does not feel right, even if this is something agreed to. We must be wary."

"LAND HO! PORT FOREQUARTER!" The lookout cried from his post fifty feet off the deck.

"Helm, come an eighth to port smartly," Kain ordered after referencing the crude map they had of the Southern Continent from their last visit.

"One eighth port, aye Captain," the helmsman answered immediately.

"Chief of the watch, signal the Excelsior to break off and begin scouting the coastlands."

"Aye, sir," the requested officer hoisted a flag into the wind toward the second ship in the flight formation.

"If our arrangement has soured, we shall need the invasion landing zones," Kain said phlegmatically. He really meant that they would need them regardless, given the likelihood that Vector would own up to the arrangement was practically nil. He would be vindicated, but not for the reasons he expected.

"What say you about the draft plan the King had tabled at our last meeting?" Cecil asked his longtime friend.

"You mean the intent to raid the crystal from Mysidia?" Kain asked for clarification. "I do not question the King's orders, but I am unsure what we would need it for. Baron already has a crystal."

"Aye," Cecil acknowledged. "Still, if the King says we grab the crystal, well, we grab the crystal. It is a move without apparent logic, but there is very likely some value in having more than one. Do you have an estimate on manpower for the raid?"

"We can do it using a platoon of the Dragoons, yourself, Rosa, and a Company of Infantry. Mysidia is thick with wizards, but a fast enough attack can overwhelm them before they can react in force."

Cecil grunted. "If we are ordered to make the attack, I will submit your force estimate to the King for our mission."

"I hope we do not receive orders to undertake that mission while we are entangled here in Vector," Kain half-entreated of the Dark Knight.

"I hope so, just the same. These Imperials, their Magitek weapon systems, if they decide to turn those arms against Baron, the only defense we would have is the Red Wings...and I question how much effect we would have against swarms of flying units."

"Probably not enough," Kain admitted. More to the point, these Magitek weapons, if they had an air weapon, would likely be extremely hazardous for the Dragoons to try jumping on.

"MOUNTAINS CONFIRMED! DEAD AHEAD!" The lookout shouted.

"Helm, bring her port a sixteenth," Cecil said.

"Southern route today?" Kain asked, given the route Cecil was attempting was not the same as the last time the _Enterprise_ had come to this continent.

"I have a suspicion that the Empire had a port city on the southern lay of their continent. If this is the case, we can use the city as leverage against the Empire in a ground campaign," Cecil opined.

"Assuming, of course, that mad bastard Kefka Palazzo does not torch the city and everyone within," Kain countered his old friend's intention.

"True, but unlikely. Kefka may be insane, but his paymaster is slightly more reasonable...if quite a bit more greedy. We will have quite the challenge in defeating those two, should it come to blows."

Both Dark Knight and Dragoon Captain were silent for several minutes, considering the possibilities of operations in this unfamiliar land. In the likely same vein as operating in the Kingdom of Baron, not only would an invasion force from Baron have to contend with the Imperials, but they would very likely also have to contend with indigenous creatures — some of which were more dangerous than the average man. Cecil considered the necessary manpower requirements to get around that pitfall; Kain looked at it as plenty of practice for his Dragoons to work over non-human opponents.

"Sir Cecil, if I am gauging the lay of the terrain right, we have a large, wedge-shaped mass of mountain ranges along this side of the map, which likely ends here," and the navigator drew what he estimated on the map, "and this area here would probably be optimal for the port city you suggest," he circled a region on the southern edge of the continent.

"Then we follow the southern edge of this wedge-shaped island toward the area we overflew to arrive at Vector. Be mindful of the crags, and look for the desert that was east of the mountain pass," Cecil decided.

The _Enterprise_ would have no difficulty making it to Vector. It would be her sister ship, doing recon on the beaches and coasts, that would tip their hand to an unlikely foe.

-x-x-x-

(21 July 989, 0630)  
(Northeast of Southern Continent)

"These overnight rides are the roughest, but hardly the worst," Flay Allster admitted candidly. "Going from Narshe to Vector with a cargo load…that is the rough one."

"No argument from me," the navigator answered. "Okay, if I'm doing my math right, we should be roughly twenty minutes out from the coastline northwest of the Esper Base."

"Sounds good, means we have six hours to run total. I think when we get past dawn, I'll turn it over to the trainee and catch some sleep."

With the deployment of the _Falcon_, Setzer's business model changed drastically. The _Blackjack_ still toured the world as an air cruise ship, and occasionally the _Falcon_ would do the same, but in most circumstances the larger and faster _Falcon_ served as a freight hauler. Given the Imperial Teleportation System was not commercially viable (it could only be used once a week at most in its present and irreversible configuration), freight and personnel shipping came down to naval options or (for priority shipping) the Airships.

More airships were under construction — King Edgar was working on one, the Republic of Vector had two in gantries, and Setzer had two in production — but the turnaround time for ships of this size and complexity was on the order of a year minimum. An air fleet renaissance was widely considered to be underway, but it certainly was not a spectator's sport at this time.

Perversely, the new ships coming online meant they had to have trained crew to man them, and more specifically to train incoming greenhorns. Flay was not much past greenhorn herself, but Setzer put her in command of the _Blackjack_ for a reason and she took the duty to heart. Where else was one paid to fly an airship around the world for cardsharps and tourists? Finding potential crewmen and training them in was not a huge challenge, especially when Flay was now pushing the ship toward a 24-hour flight operation, which required roughly double the crew that daylight flight only would take.

"Want me to keep an eye on lady newbie?" the navigator asked. 'Lady Newbie' was their joke name for the high-society daughter runaway that Flay was training in for the flight role. She was technically competent, but took a little to get over the whole 'parents can buy anything she wanted' phase of her life.

"Good idea...huh?" Flay groused, looking off into the distance. "Is that...an airship? Or Magitek?"

"What?" the Navigator asked.

"Two o'clock high," Flay pointed in the general direction.

"Okay, I see it...way too big to be a Sky Render or Air Armor. Has to be some kind of an airship...but it's not ours?" The Navigator judged.

"Why would an airship have cannon ports all up and down the side of the ship?" a guy riding the ship to Miranda asked nobody in particular.

"And why is it just tooling along at a few knots airspeed?" the Navigator asked after it became apparent the ship in question was in a hurry going nowhere fast.

"Oh shit," Flay groused. "It's a recon flight of some kind, looking for somewhere to land a larger unit," Flay guessed by drawing a parallel: "The _Archangel _did the same thing before we fought the Imperial Army north of Maranda. We sent Magic Knight Fuu Hououji forward of the ship to find a landing spot. One of the few times I was allowed out of my brig cell before I was discharged was in the hours before that first battle." She had been confined to the ship and under effective guard by an Elemental trooper, but it was better than being behind bars.

"What do we do?" the Navigator asked. "Vector needs to know! But — "

"We need to tell them more than just the fact it was spotted." Flay reached down to the lower part of the helm pedestal and came up with an electric microphone. She held down the tone button on it long enough to cause the typical attention-to-orders tone used in naval intercom systems. "Attention all hands, I need four crewmembers to report to the foredeck with rifles and sufficient munitions for a sustained firefight. All passengers are advised to be ready to take emergency seats at a moment's notice. That is all."

The response to her orders were quite a bit higher than four men — she had twelve rifles and two machine gun crews up on the deck by the time all was said and done, but she was not going to object to the over-manning. "Where do you want us, Cap'n?" the lead guy of the first machine gun asked.

"Set up on the port side, we're going to do our recon out to sea from the threat ship." Flay spun the controls hard to starboard, to take the ship back out into the sea north of the Southern Continent.

"Aye, Cap'n," the stocky machine-gunner hefted the massive M2 machine gun and took it to the railing, which Setzer had long ago upgraded to support pintle mounts for the Ma Deuce. He didn't expect to ever use the Blackjack as a makeshift 'gunship', but keeping pirates or raiders at bay required firepower in excess of what the raiders would expect…

"Whatever it is, it's definitely smaller than the _Blackjack_," the Navigator judged. "No lift curtain above the ship, it looks like those masts are some kind of large propeller blades?"

"A ship made into a helicopter," Flay guessed. "I would freaking hate to try flying something like that. If you lost a shaft, kiss your arse goodbye. And the deck is probably obscenely noisy compared to this ship."

"How close are you going to try getting to it?" the Navigator asked.

Flay figured a little bravado was in order: "Close enough to see the whites of their eyes," she said with gusto. "For sure, if we are going to do this, I want to report to Natarle with good, hard intel. She is going to need to know where and how bad."

"Well, we're about to find out how bad, Cap'n. She's opening gunports!" Before Flay could react and begin maneuvering, the enemy ship cut loose with a broadside that briefly engulfed its side in smoke. The surreal aspect of the naval broadside was the fact that Flay could track the cannonballs in flight as they tumbled through the air and eventually nosed down into the waves below, well off the intended mark of the _Blackjack_.

"Don't give these jackwagons a second shot! Machine guns, rifles, we are almost closed up to firing range!" Flay picked up the microphone again, and initiated the attention tone. "Now hear this, now hear this, all hands to battle stations! We are engaging a hostile airship on the port side! All available crew break out machine guns and rifles and report to the foredeck for naval action port side! All civilians to your emergency seating on the double!"

The sound of footsteps below was briefly drowned out by the roar of a second cannon fusilade from the enemy ship, which once again passed well forward of the _Blackjack_ but this time was almost on the right aim level to intercept the ship. Flay countered their rather weak ballistics by bringing the ship up in altitude to slightly above their flight level — their cannons would have a hellish time trying to aim upward, but the _Blackjack_ crew would have effective plunging fire to the entire deck of the enemy ship.

"Captain! We're five hundred meters off their starboard broadside!" One of the riflemen shouted over the sound of smaller cannons being fired from the enemy deck. "They're using one-pound guns on pintle mounts!" A second later, one of those cannon balls slammed into the side of the Blackjack with a distinct thump sound.

"Machine guns! Rifles! Open fire!"

Flay deliberately ignored the gun action while her troops aimed down over the rails to the enemy ship. Her weapons complement contained four machine guns and a dozen old bolt-action rifles, more than ample firepower to chop most pirates to bloody strips. She didn't expect it would have any utility against another ship, let alone a **war**ship, but wherever this Airship came from was probably plotting bad things for her new homeland. And Flay didn't like that thought.

She slowly edged the _Blackjack_ toward the enemy ship, to provide her gunners an easier shot against the enemy warship. Flay didn't have to see the effects firsthand, Flay knew the massive fifty-caliber machine gun rounds were hammering into the deck boards of the ship and likely through the deck boards into the interior compartments...maybe into the critical systems inside the ship?

Her answer came a minute later and after the machine gunners had gone through a full box of ammunition each. The gunner nearest to her raised his weapon skyward and put his fist up after a few moments, accompanied by a feral shout. Several second later, Flay could see the center rotor shaft lift away from the craft and spiral upward, eventually to fall into the ocean nearer the continent than the _Blackjack_. Other crewmen raised their rifles and began shouting their victory, though two of the machine guns fed in a third box of ammo and continued hammering on the ship even as it broke portward for land to attempt a crash landing.

"We got 'er, Captain! She's going down, aiming for the coastline southeast of Tzen!" the eldest of the machine gunners shouted.

"Spread the machine guns around, reload all your weapons, and remain at battle stations. We're headed for Vector at full speed, Regent Badgiruel needs to know this."

"Aye, Cap'n!" the machine gunner responded.

Flay picked up the microphone. "Now hear this. The Blackjack has engaged and downed a hostile enemy airship of unknown flag and design. All civilians are allowed to move about freely, but be advised we may be engaged in combat at any time. That is all."

_Hot damn, but that was risky. At least they weren't equipped for a proper airship-to-airship engagement, probably set up to provide fire against ground forces or a city or something_, Captain Allster thought. Her guess was accurate, but not for the reason she thought it would be.

-x-

(4 hours later)

"What the fuck is this?" Flay asked nobody in particular. "A second ship? Here?" she indicated the landing field Setzer had built for his airships.

"White flag, Cap'n. They're here under a banner of truce, so unless they fire on us, we shouldn't fire on them." the senior rifleman commented dryly.

"I know, but I don't trust the bastards," Flay countered. "All guns to the port side, but make sure you keep your safeties on. If they get hostile, I want their ship hammered into splinters."

"Aye, Cap'n," the lead machine gunner answered. "You heard the lady! Eyes on port side hostile but keep it tight!"

"As soon as we land, I want two rifles on me, and a car to take me to the Republic Fortress. Time is of the essence."

-x-x-x-

(21 July 989, 0930 Hours)  
(Republic Fortress, Vector)

Four knocks at her door was ample evidence to Natarle that something was urgent. Mina never knocked more than once or twice for any reason.

"Something wrong, Commander?" her personal Seraphim summon asked.

"Possibly. Be at the ready for anything." Natarle looked up from what she was doing to the office door. "Enter," she said, her right hand on a pistol in a holster she affixed to the bottom of her desk.

Mina pushed through the door and partway into the room, another indicator that something was wrong. "Commander, I have General Leo and one to speak to you."

"See them in," Natarle responded. "Seraph, please remain."

"Aye," her summon answered. "I sense...darkness?"

General Leo was the first into the room, followed by a man in significant black armor, though he had the common courtesy to remove his helmet. "Milady Badgiruel, this is Dark Knight Cecil Harvey, Kingdom of Baron, far to our west and somewhat north. Dark Knight, this is Regent Natarle Badgiruel, the present head of the Republic of Vector."

"Milady," the Dark Knight bowed as would be appropriate to royalty. "It is much as I surmised, and as General Leo explained. Kefka Palazzo, he is no longer in the command structure, correct?"

"Lord Kefka and Emperor Gestahl were killed in combat some years ago, Dark Knight Harvey. They were attempting to upset a trio of sealed divinities and thus destroy the world as you or I know it. We had to act directly and immediately to prevent that happenstance," Natarle explained. "The Empire of the Southern Continent no longer exists."

"I find myself unsurprised," Cecil answered after a few seconds of thinking about it. "I was not convinced of the mental faculties of either Palazzo or Gestahl when I met with them in years past. It is good to see better men now rule this land." Natarle passed his turn of phrase off to an older method of English, as the language was originally in use (a male-based language).

The Commander decided a non-comment on the linguistic variance would be proper in this case. "So, Dark Knight of Baron, to what do we owe the honor of a visit?"

"Before I explain, how much do you know of the business dealings of the former Emperor?" Cecil asked plainly.

"Not much," Natarle admitted. "When the Espers tore through the Imperial Capital, a lot of personnel were slain and damage to records occurred. Whole swaths of the business the Emperor conducted were lost to the war."

"Ah," Cecil answered. "Some years ago, after a particularly terrible engagement between a siege force and a larger-than-myth flying warship, we made contact with Emperor Gestahl. He was desperate for men and weapons to fight off what he believed was an imminent invasion. Baron supplied him with thousands of sets of armor and weapons. King Baron supplied the gear and manpower to train their personnel, on the agreement of compensation at a later time."

"Not a bad deal, but ultimately futile," General Leo answered. "The siege battle you are referring to was the battle of Doma East, and I was in command of the force that was smashed. The larger-than-myth flying warship was no myth. Regent Badgiruel was at one time the commander of the Mobile Forces of that warship."

"Congratulations on a campaign that looked to be impossible," Cecil acknowledged.

"Thank you. It was a hard-fought campaign to bring down the Empire, though I do not begrudge you the business dealings that may have contributed to the difficulty. King Baron executed what he thought would be a profitable business deal, though circumstance dealt the alliance a fatal blow," Natarle answered. "That said, I can sense where you intend to go with this line of thinking."

"My apologies, Regent Badgiruel, but this is a pro forma request. Regardless of victor or vanquished, there is a debt to be serviced here," Cecil prompted. "As you were not the primary benefactor, I am willing to make arrangements."

Natarle sighed. "I am reluctant to say this, but I must invoke a legal premise from my homeworld. What General Leo has thus far skirted is that, in those years past, I was an interdimensional mercenary — specifically, a commander thereof. We always operated on our own rulebook, and when I worked out the constitution of the Republic of Vector I included that rulebook in the governing Constitution of the Republic. All parties who are signatories of the Constitution agreed that all debts public and private of the old Imperial Administration are considered null and void to the Republic. By the laws that govern us, I cannot provide the Kingdom of Baron any compensation for your dealings with Emperor Gestahl."

Cecil nodded several times contemplatively. "Understood," he said after a fashion. "If you are legally bound to inaction, then I shall not trouble you further on this issue. I will report this position to King Baron, who will likely dispatch an official political envoy for representation to the Republic in the near future."

Natarle nodded. "I will receive such an envoy when he or she is made available," Commander Badgiruel answered.

"Then I have concluded my business with the Republic at this time. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Regent Badgiruel." The Dark Knight bowed again as would be proper and fitting to royalty.

"Thank you, Dark Knight Harvey. Please convey my greetings to King Baron. I shall detain you no further if your business is concluded. General Leo, please muster transport and escort for the Dark Knight back to his vessel."

"Aye, Commander," General Leo answered immediately. He opened the door behind the Dark Knight before he looked outside the room. "Juno, Briggs, please escort the Dark Knight to his ship. Take my Humm-vee if none others are available."

"Sir!" one of the two ordered officers answered immediately. Thirty seconds later, the Dark Knight was off the Regent's Floor.

"How bad is this going to be?" Natarle asked the General.

"He was a reluctant messenger," Leo answered immediately. "I highly doubt we have seen or heard the last of them."

"Wonderful. Another war."

"This time, milady, we stand in a proper position. The Republic is not enslaved to Gestahl's debts, and asinine would it be for a losing party to expect compensation for their losses from their victor. If they come looking, I would expect them to walk face-first into a wall of firepower the likes of which Gestahl could only dream of. Remember, because there were no truly new weapon systems on the field, it is safe to say the best the Kingdom of Baron could have had would be musket weapons."

"Our AKM-armed troops will tear through them in minutes," Natarle concluded. "And with Esper support and heavy armor in the Magitek Gear Rex units, they will have to field a massive force to compensate."

-x-

(1 hour later)

Again, Natarle was shocked to hear the four knocks of her personal secretary. "Come," the Regent answered.

"Commander, I have a Captain Flay Allster here to speak to you. She says it is urgent, pertaining to our guest earlier in the day."

Normally, Natarle would not have given the fratricidal Allster the time of day, but in this case invoking the forces from the Kingdom of Baron was a massive attention-getter. Badgiruel had seen her around Vector once or twice, highly depressed both times and destitute, similarly out of work at the time. Where Flay had received the title 'Captain' was a mystery to Natarle, or it was the product of delusion.

Leo escorted this one in as well, though Natarle could not help but notice the hand on the pommel of his secondary dirk. "Commander, thank you for hearing me, even over our prior agreement," Flay said calmly and with proper deference.

"Okay, Flay, you have my attention. First off, why the title of Captain?" Natarle asked.

"I command Setzer Gambiani's old ship, the _Blackjack_. He now commands the _Falcon_." Flay said, again completely calmly, almost in an unsettling fashion to Natarle for the near-complete lack of emotion.

Natarle sighed. "I am sorry we had to drum you out as we did," the former Commander apologized.

"Beats the hell out of the firing squad," Flay admitted candidly and with a bit more cheer.

"Thank you for the explanation. Now, what has brought you here pertaining to the Kingdom of Baron forces that were here earlier today?" Natarle asked.

"They were not alone," Flay said. "A second ship was flying the coastline southeast of Tzen. When we approached to identify the ship, it fired on the _Blackjack_ without provocation."

"You retreated safely? Did your ship suffer any casualties?" General Leo asked.

"The only notable casualty we suffered was a freak concussion, a one-pound cannonball dislodged a heavy-frame painting of the opera star Maria from the interior of the ship. The painting landed on a couple from Nikeah; the lady was knocked out, but suffered no lasting injury."

"That's one for the record books," Natarle noted with a bit of shock. "What can you tell me of the ship?"

"It is presently in three pieces, roughly here," Flay took two steps to the map of the southern continent on Natarle's western wall and indicated a particular outcropping on the shore of the continent. "I had a compliment of personnel on hand with four Ma Deuce machine guns and a dozen of the older Enfield rifles. Defense against piracy or raids," Captain Allster explained; both General and Regent visibly relaxed at her explanation. "I figured my best chance of making it out alive was direct engagement, from above and to the side, so they could not use their cannons against my ship. A couple minutes of fire and the ship's rotors were destroyed."

"Holy shit," Natarle groused. "You...downed an enemy warship using machine guns on an otherwise unarmed and unarmored airship that is best known for traveling amenities and gambling tables?" Natarle summarized the matter.

"Well, yes?" Flay asked in shock, hoping that was the right answer.

"I believe...I may have been quite wrong about you," Natarle admitted. "This ship, can you get the _Blackjack_ out to it without risk?"

"Yes, easily," Flay answered, not entirely sure what had changed, but she could realize something had.

"How would you like to air-mobile a party out to investigate the wreckage?" Natarle asked bluntly.

"I would like that very much," Flay answered, suddenly of the realization that her involvement here could finally clear her name.

"Leo, set it up," Natarle ordered. "You go with the force. Flay, I want you to provide gunship support while the troops are investigating."

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

I have received criticism over the years for my sad treatment of Flay in the chapters of Archangel's Amazing Adventures, but as these things go, the dice can show anyone a way out...or a way in deeper.

Now, on the major issue of the chapter, consider the physics of the matter. Just about every Final Fantasy world is, by geographic proportions, far too small to constitute a planet. On the other hand, if you consider that a Square world is typically appropriate size to roughly half a planet, and you combine a pair of them back to back, you're looking at something plausible. This becomes a little more direct on the assumption that a ship which goes exploring toward the other side would end up becoming a new coral reef by way of Baron or the Southern Empire.

Cecil's explanation on what happened between Empires is the straight truth. King Baron thought he was betting on a sure thing, so he fronted a bunch of equipment on the assumption that he would get something back — hopefully all of what was requested. Unfortunately, a care of pissed-off northerners and some Espers put 'paid' to that plan before the final cheques were cashed.

Now, with the destruction of the second (scout) ship, Baron will realize that they have only one effective chance to profit from the exchange, and that is conquest. Unfortunately for Baron, they have no real clue what they are walking into, given the death of the second ship's crew there shall be nobody alive to tell of the horrors that the Republic of Vector can inflict in short notice.

All that remains is to see who wins the scrap to come, but rest assured that I have a few surprises on that note. Remember, the FF6 storyline may have concluded, technically, but the FF4 storyline has not even begun (the beginning campaign in 4 was the invasion of Mysidia, of which Kain and Cecil were discussing on the way to the meet).

On the writing front, I am chewing through the technical issues pertaining to the next chapter of AAA, but at a grind pace. No guarantees on what time frame that shall happen. This should also be my last delayed chapter; I have dropped one chapter a month for the past two months, instead of two chapters. My apologies, but I have had some issues on the homefront to sort out that took precedence over writing.

That is all I have for these notes. **NEXT UP**: Baron makes their gambit; the Republic of Vector makes their response. Who will survive?

* * *

**Review Replies**: For an opening chapter, I consider SEVEN reviews to be absolutely kickass. Thank you all for the input!

Death Zealot: You got the meet, amigo. Also, I am unsure if more mecha is in the works right now, given the conflict cycle is too short for a proper dev cycle, but there may be a few surprises.

The order is presently RoV - DFA - MMC - JW2 - (AAA) - RS, with AAA being a possible tentative I get all the bugs and concepts worked out.

Mega 1987: Nope, the clown is dead and I like it that way. There are other threats in this world, though…

Kookith: There will be some Natarle - Edgar action direct in coming chapters, but necessity keeps it short for now.

Flay, well, she'll do some more change to come. On that you can rest assured :)

MisterSP: FF6 may be steampunk and fantasy, but I'm not going there :)

C0dy88: I hope it is staying interesting, amigo. If you have any thoughts, PM me.

CHM01: Nah, Magitek Gear Rex makes perfect sense...at least in my mobile-warfare-addled brain… On a more serious note, Natarle is going to have some serious horsepower to flex in her dual position, but Baron will not be a pushover in that respect. Time will tell how this one plays out.

Infinite Freedom: Not a bad guess, actually, but I am thinking something more along the lines of a personal approach.

Thank you all for the reviews! Hope this chapter maintains expectations!

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**: No gripes so far. Much thanks to my Betas **Takeshi Yamato**, **Sieben Nightwing**, and **Necrblade**.

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): To anyone who is dissing Flay right now for pulling the pin by finger instead of by teeth, take heed: the pull strength of a grenade's pin is upwards of twelve pounds, well in excess of the force needed to break teeth. The army trains recruits to pull pins by finger, and for good reason. Point of fact: no known professional military force trains recruits to pull the grenade pin with their teeth.

(2): The Thompson, like many sub-machineguns throughout the world, operates from an open bolt position as its ready position. This is to help prevent round cookoff in a hot chamber and promote cooling.


End file.
